


The Truth In All Its Chaos

by Trifoilum



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Post 3.26, Referenced 3.23, WHERE IS JACK AND BITTY Y'ALL, kent is mentioned, referenced zimbits, shitty is mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoilum/pseuds/Trifoilum
Summary: Suzanne knows where to find the answers.The answers lie in their church sermons and their distaste. They lie in hushed whispers and disgusted slurs. They lie in Georgia and its refusal to change where it matters when so much of the country has. They lie in all the words and actions her son had suffered.The answers lie inside themselves: Rick’s insistence of a better pasttime for Eric, her concern, their expectations. Her denial, if not for her son and his interests, then for his suffering and the words he yearned to tell her.Sweetheart, tell me what? You know Jack’s gonna be busy this summer no matter which way these games go. Staying with a friend for that long. That’s a lot to put on him.Mama. No.No.Jack. Jack’s… He’s my— I—Suzanne wonders if Eric also calls Jack sweetpea.





	1. Suzanne

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Internalized homophobia. See end notes for more explanation.
> 
> ASJAFJKASJKDL MY HEART I CANNOT TAKE IT NGOZI I LOVE U

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italicized parts are quoted directly from Check, Please! 23: Cup II - Summer with Jack
> 
> 7 Jan ETA : also, I just realized that one piece of canon directly clashes with this story (regarding Shitty and how Suzanne couldn't remember him), so I'm editing that part a bit.

So this is what it feels like; having your hope violently yanked away under your feet.

It feels horrible.

The moment they heard her call connecting, Suzanne Bittle is sitting beside her husband on their son's bed, in the unused room that feels so full of life.  The moment the call dropped, Rick— Coach—tightens his grip. His hand is warm like it has always been. "It's not Junior,” he stated.

Suzanne shakes her head and bites her lips. Closes her eyes like she is trying to will something to exist from thin air. "Dicky said something about a certain...Shitty?" Or as she said it, Mr. Crappy. Her brain vaguely remembers him; thick mustache, loud, too far from the contrite man she just talked with. The Southern part of her replays the conversation, parsing every word for the hidden lies, every pause for the unsaid truths, and every change of tone for clues she can use. She remembers gently chiding Eric for the crass nickname, receiving a bashful grin as a reply before he said another name she now fails to remember. And then she just calls him Mr. Crappy. How peaceful, those halcyon days. How far.

"He's holding Junior's phone,” followed Rick with recognition. Both his hands are now holding her left hand, leaving the other to hold her phone.

A sob finally manages to break through Suzanne’s defenses; it takes the rest of her energy to stop it. She felt like a limp doll. "He said Dicky isn't there. Neither is Jack. Dicky never left his phone, Rick. Never."  The grunt she received as a reply is skeptical and understanding. "Did he lie? Is Dicky there and he's... avoiding us?" Suzanne continued. "What if something happened? What if someone hurts him? What if--"

Her phone vibrates, breaking her thoughts and directing all eyes towards the screen. The name Mrs. Emerson is displayed on the screen-- another neighbor, another one bombarding her with whatever they want to say—and with an uncharacteristic hiss she presses decline and gives silence its control back. So many people have called and Suzanne has endured them first: the sweet venom, the concern, the nosiness, the **judgment**. Then she traded place with her husband and he just unplugged their home phone entirely. At least with her cellphone she knows who’s calling— soon enough it won’t be just neighbors. And Eric knows her number by heart, would have called if he wanted to. She sighed.

"Suzanne," Rick begins carefully as he leaned forward. "If something happens to either of them that they don't want to, Jack's people will talk. The news will go crazy. And it's not just his phone. Junior's gone radio silent everywhere."

“You’ve checked Face—“

“ _Everywhere_ ,” pressed the coach, lips thinned, and Suzanne knows he isn’t lying.

Rick has bore the brunt of searching on the Internet. He scoured through the news, the blogs, even the so called blind gossip sites neither of them ever knew before; soldiered through everything as he sat in their living room until he was brought to Eric's Twitter and his vlog. And if watching your son kissing the young man you just adored a few minutes ago was a shock, reading through the little truths he never told was a torture Suzanne couldn’t handle now. She can’t listen to Eric’s cheerful voice as he narrated their family recipes and told the story of their family. As he tells the world how much he loves them while hiding a significant part of his life at the same time.

_Who’s my “favorite person to bake with?” Oh, Y’all. That’s **easy**. Hands down, my mother!_

She can’t handle the truth in all its chaos right now; it will distract her from her purpose. She just wants her Dicky. However, Rick could handle the truth and Suzanne is forever grateful for it.

“Did you find anything new?” she asks her husband, feeling dirty for essentially snooping and dirtier for not doing it until everything’s too late.

“It’s happening for a while.”

“..Which one?”

“Everything. Junior and Jack. Him being—“

“ _Like this_ ,” Suzanne interjects. She had felt enough distaste from other people; she can’t take it if it comes from her husband.

“Yeah.” Pulling her closer, Rick's hand moves to rest at the small of her back, drawing small circles there just like he would when they were young, or when Eric was younger and she would incessantly fret about him. It takes every inch of her willpower to keep herself from breaking when she noted how Rick's voice is glazed with the special kind of horribleness when everything becomes so painfully clear in retrospect. "Oh, Lord. How did we miss it, Suzie. How are we so blind-- Jack stayed here for days. How could-- how could we not see?" A choked sob rumbled in his throat, "How many times have he wanted to tell us, Suzie?"

It was her turn to soothe Rick's back up and down, supporting her sweetpea in his weakness. “Maybe we do know,” she murmured. “Maybe we just choose not to face it. Or maybe we don’t know at all.”

Suzanne knows where to find the answers.

The answers lie in their church sermons and their distaste. They lie in hushed whispers and disgusted slurs. They lie in Georgia and its refusal to change where it matters when so much of the country has. They lie in all the words and actions her son had suffered.

The answers lie inside themselves: Rick’s insistence of a better pasttime for Eric, her concern, their expectations. Her denial, if not for her son and his interests, then for his suffering and the words he yearned to tell her.

_Sweetheart, tell me what? You know Jack’s gonna be busy this summer no matter which way these games go. Staying with a friend for that long. That’s a lot to put on him._

_Mama. No. **No**. Jack. Jack’s… He’s my— I—_

Suzanne wonders if Eric also calls Jack sweetpea.

Her phone vibrates again. She only takes a short glimpse before smothering it down like Eric’s worn-out comforter would silence the noise. It did, eventually.

“Junior doesn’t trust either of us,” Rick whispers, as if saying it louder will bring his words to reality.

“He—loves us, sweetpea. Perhaps too much. Sometimes love comes before trust.”

Indeed, this explains the call she just had. The young man’s attitude— it was stalling. He definitely knew Eric and his situation, and he knew not to offer any answer to her. Suzanne had half a mind to make another call and seek her answers if she believed it has any point.  

“Are we at fault for sending Junior there, sweetpea? Should we have…done something? Say something?” asked Suzanne.

Rick finally calms down and backs a bit, keeping their foreheads touching while his arm circled around her shoulder. “He looks happy in the videos, Suzie. Free. So…”

Suzanne can’t disagree. And neither can she deny the happiness in her son’s face when Jack stayed, or his voice whenever he talked about Jack during their calls. “So maybe— maybe this is what our Dicky’s meant to be,” she muttered.  
  
“Even if it’s….?”

Suzanne doesn’t answer or fill in the silence. Right or wrong, sin or not, disgusting or not… it was all subjective and unimportant now.

She just wants her Dicky.


	2. Bob, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon retrospect, Bad Bob Zimmermann knew where to find the answers.
> 
> Because from the corner of his eye Bob noticed how the hug lingered way longer than is proper for best friends and former teammates. Because they still lingered close when the hug was over, replacing the laughter with something intimate. Because this is what Bob himself would do if he was young and passionate and stupid; this was exact time and place to make the declaration that _I, Jack Laurent Zimmerman, love this man from the bottom of my still-beating heart._
> 
> No matter what the world would say about that.
> 
> (Meanwhile, Bob had all these plans and timelines for Jack and Eric to come out safely, and upon retrospect he really should have told them about it.)
> 
> Because, not so long after he continued the interview, the interviewer silently gasped at something outside the camera's frame. And the frame followed her.
> 
> He knew by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW : Some insinuation about Jack's overdose. See end notes for more.

Upon retrospect, Bad Bob Zimmermann had seen the kiss coming a few minutes before it actually happened.

He blamed it to the interview. The retired star had been gushing to a reporter—a respectful, sharp young woman whom he had been interviewed by a few times— about each and every details of the game. Several emphases were placed on Jack: his general performance, his composure after Game Five and the almost fight, and especially the beauty of that last shot. If there ever was a day when Bob could be partial, this would be that day.

Jack won the Cup.

It wasn’t actually the Stanley Cup he was happy about. Or even what some people had insinuated about _his legacy_ and whatsit. No, ever since he and Alicia had watched Jack on that hospital bed, weak and pale and still wanting to continue the torment to be half a player people said Bad Bob Zimmermann had been, Bob had decided that his entire legacy could be thrown out of the window for all he cared. No, Bob was happy because his son was breaking the chains he had inadvertently created in the first place.

“It must have been good for you to watch your son blazing his own path today,” asked the reporter. As always, she got it.

“Definitely. As a father _and_ a player I’m absolutely proud of him. It’s always wonderful watching him out here, playing the sports he loves with the people he trusts.” Bob threw a charming grin he always used to the camera. “It’s time for him to become Jack Zimmermann, alternate captain of the Providence Falconers and winner of the 2016 Stanley Cup instead of the son of Bad Bob Zimmermann. It’s time for people to see Jack as the ace that he has become, instead of his past..”

Yet from the corner of his eye, fatherly instinct recognized how Jack's posture remained taut with tension. After the initial celebration was over the younger Zimmermann’s smile had faded and replaced with a look of unease. With a subtle turn of his head, Bob saw Jack clearer; he was breathing with a conscious control while longing eyes darted, looking for something. Someone.

"Jack! **JACK**!"

Bob noticed his son’s reaction before the voice. Jack immediately craned his neck to the source of the voice, his entire body relaxing immediately. Only _now_ did a little smile bloom on his face; part _I can’t believe how adorable you are, you’re holding the other half of my heart,_ and part _thank you for being here with me_. A chuckle escaped Bob’s throat and his chest swelled even more with pride. That smile had already present way before graduation, seemingly permanent whenever Eric Bittle was concerned. And he knew that smile. There were several photos of him with a similar kind of face, all involving Alicia inside or outside the camera frame.

Yes, it was never about the Stanley Cup.

"...Bits! Hey!"

Without reservation, Eric rushed towards Jack to be caught without hesitation, clinging together like that was how they breathe. Jack had been much more comfortable expressing his own emotions these days—much more comfortable full stop. Alicia was right-- this boy is good for their son. Years of learning body language from an actress told him that both his son and Eric screamed _love_ the moment they ran towards each other, for better or worse.

...For better or worse, truly, because Jack and Eric aren't like them. Bob had long stopped being naïve.

But Bob had an interview to finish, and he immediately returned his attention back to the camera before it could notice the celebration between the young lovers. His personal feelings would wait.

Upon retrospect, Bad Bob Zimmermann knew where to find the answers.

Because from the corner of his eye Bob noticed how the hug lingered way longer than is proper for best friends and former teammates. Because they still lingered close when the hug was over, replacing the laughter with something intimate. Because this is what Bob himself would do if he was young and passionate and stupid; this was exact time and place to make the declaration that _I, Jack Laurent Zimmerman, love this man from the bottom of my still-beating heart_.

No matter what the world would say about that.

(Meanwhile, Bob had all these plans and timelines for Jack and Eric to come out safely, and upon retrospect he really should have told them about it.)

Because, not so long after he continued the interview, the interviewer silently gasped at something outside the camera's frame. And the frame followed her.

He knew by then.

Decades of field experience had provided Bob with an uncanny instinct. It involved a spatial awareness of the rink, both his teammates' position and their opponents, and a constantly running calculation of where to shoot, who to pass and how to achieve that.

That same instinct urged him to move now and he did, raising an apologetic hand to the interviewer and especially the camera before wading through the crowd to reach Jack and Eric without knowing why. 

The drumming inside his heart turned louder and faster the closer he got.

The kiss had just ended the moment Bob Zimmermann reached his son and his boyfriend.

With a wide scooping move he embraced the couple tightly, knowing full well the names of these feeling as well as what he must do.

" _Je suis fier de vous_ ," he muttered, and surprisingly Bob found his voice breaking a little bit. "Welcome to the family, Eric." There was a sob from Eric, then Jack also let a hitched breath, and Bob grinned widely.

Those were truths, what he said and felt, but not the entire truth.

He couldn't find the heart to tell either of them how worried he was.

 

\---

 

Parson didn't reply to any of his messages.

Jack's former teammates from Samwell saw the kiss. His current teammates also saw it. Surely the world would see it too, and that included Kent Parson.

After tactically evading all interviews the moment he saw the kiss, Bob had sent him a few short messages. From all indication, none of them was read. Some part of him wanted to sent another few; an offer for help, or at least an apology for the storm that would surely come to him, but the rest warned against it. Parson might not be alone right now, and the last thing Bob wanted after what Jack did was to add more fuel to the rumors that would soon go ablaze again by making contact with the Aces captain. From what he knew the Las Vegas Aces wasn't exactly an ally the Providence Falconers had been for Jack.

As he expected, the Stanley Cup was basically forgotten. Social media, and not just the hockey side but also the fledging bakers and gossipers that followed Eric’s vlog, was basically set on fire, with a new tweet bursting out every second offering—

No. Bob refused to read any of it. He had done so _back then_ and both his laptop and his office’s wall broke when they both met in one angry outburst. And as much as 2016 was a kinder year for mental health discussion and LGBTQ+ people than 2008, it was also a much more connected world. Much more volatile.

His phone kept buzzing with messages; former players and NHL bigwigs and Alicia’s Hollywood friends and other people he had known regardless of fame. Not Parson. Instead of replying he called Alicia, smiling fondly when the call failed to connect. She must have seen the kiss and moved on her own, Bob imagined, making calls and sending e-mails and already building walls and cannons to protect their son and his boyfriend.

After sending Alicia a message, Bob checked the newest of his messages.

_your son is gay????_

He ignored it, reading the messages one after another and realizing that he was trapped in the uncomfortable position where he couldn’t do anything right now even if he wanted to. Here, and now, almost everyone was expected to have an opinion about LGBTQ+ people. And the things he said could affect Jack and Eric or at least the world around them.

It was different _back then_ where not much people would openly talk about anxiety and its dirty roots. Nobody dared to say anything openly negative to him or Alicia, instead talking in hushed whispers and loaded questions like _do you think your son could return to the way he was_ or _do you think he has what it takes to continue your legacy_ and all sorts of similar bullshits.

However, as he continued reading the messages one by one Bob realized how all of Alicia’s contacts had been incredibly positive. Some were saying they knew others in either his or Jack’s situation. Others sent beautiful words of support and encouragement. A few offered to establish connections with helpful organizations and inclusive corporations, and Bob realized that his wife had been building their armory for a long, long time.

Ah, how he loved her so much.

Still, Parson hadn’t replied and Bob was worried. For as much as Kent had hurt his son, what Jack did just now could put him into a similar situation if not worse. He could have been hurt and then Jack would be wrecked with guilt. Or he could use the shattered pieces of Jack's heart to retaliate. Like other people, he was bound to give his opinion sooner or later.

It was an unpleasant train of thought. Bob shook his head and decided to rewatch the recording of the kiss. Truly it was soft and heartfelt, the kind of kiss people do when they were in love. A kiss Bob had the fortune to feel for decades and one Hollywood never stopped trying to replicate.

(Hell, Alicia couldn’t. He watched her movies before and after they got together; her kisses would fool every other people in the Earth except him— he knows the real deal.)

He was about to call Alicia again when his phone vibrated, and he saw the sender. It wasn't Parson. Worse.

As much as he had predicted this and as much as he knew what to do, Bob still groaned when he saw the sender.

 

 **Georgia Martin** : _We need to talk. ASAP_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most graphic description was one sentence about seeing Jack in the hospital, and the rest it was just a simple _back then_
> 
> Unbetaed.
> 
> Je suis fier de vous : I am proud of y'all (All credits to user @emimix3 and @stardustee) !
> 
> Anyway. Ahem.
> 
> Because you can be incredibly happy and proud of your son and his boyfriend and still feel incredibly worried at the same time.
> 
> There are a few Tumblr posts talking about the significance of Jack and Bitty's coming out and I promise I'll also delve to that. Their coming out was not a net negative for themselves and the world, but it does open the two of them for significant backlash.
> 
> Next: GEORGE. Will Alicia ever pick the phone? Will Kent??? And where is Jack and Bitty????

**Author's Note:**

> Coach and Suzanne is....kind of homophobic here. At least, they see being gay as something that's wrong, even when Suzanne (as the POV char) knows it was harmful or at least mean. But they are also deeply worried about Bitty and his well-being and in Suzanne's case, abhorred the hateful words people use to bash LGBTQIA people.
> 
> It's just..interesting, to explore both of them as something that's more than just 'loving accepting parents' or 'homophobic hateful parents', I guess. It feels like leaning on one side is doing Ngozi a disservice.
> 
> I kinda want to write a sequel featuring Bob and Alicia....
> 
> anyway, freak out with me at the comments?


End file.
